How to Train Your Dragon: The Novelization Introduction and Chapter 1
by IamDivergent743
Summary: The adventure begins! On the northern Island of Berk, among the Hairy Hooligans, the outcast Hiccup is trying to prove himself a true Viking by creating a device strong enough to kill a dragon, the rite of passage for all young Vikings. But fate has other plans in store. What those plans are has yet to be revealed.


**_Introduction_**

Imagine an island. Simple, right? Now add this; twelve days north of hopeless and a few degrees south of freezing to death, located solidly on the meridian of misery. If you can imagine that, you've got my home: Berk. My village is, in a word, sturdy. It's been here for seven generations but every single building is new. We have fishing, hunting, and a charming view of the sunsets. So, life as a Berkian has its perks. The only problems are the pests. But we're different from what you'd probably expect. You see, most places have mice or mosquitoes. We have…well…dragons. Yep, you heard me, dragons. Those fire-breathing reptiles are a big problem for us; when they raid us (which is fortunately not every, every night), they steal our sheep and other livestock. Plus they also burn down most of the buildings. See? Old village, lots and lots of new houses. Most people would leave. Not us. We're Vikings. We have stubbornness issues.

My name is Hiccup, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III. Great name, I know. But it's not the worst. Parents believe a hideous name will frighten off gnomes and trolls. Like our charming Viking demeanor wouldn't do that. But I couldn't scare off even a baby dragon by making scary faces and roaring. To be honest, I'm a bit of an outcast. Not just physically (most 14-year-olds here can already use hammers and axes, but I'm small and scrawny), but also mentally. Unlike the other big, brawny Berkians, I'm more of the one who likes to think of the smartest solution. Sometimes, it works. But most times, more often than not, it only leads to disaster and a long lecture.

Still, I'm hoping to get out there one day to fight dragons. Then I can be called a real Viking and be accepted by everyone; and who knows? I could even get a girlfriend. But for now, I work at the smithy, where I never see action.

 **Chapter One**

 ** _Dragon Raid_**

I push open the door to head out to the blacksmith shop when I notice a few sheep and some neighbors running towards the right. I look to the left and see a huge dragon, a Monstrous Nightmare, looking my way. It shoots a spout of fire and I immediately slam the door before the flames can get inside. But that doesn't stop them from getting through the frame. The smell of smoke and burned wood fills the inside of the hut.

"Dragons," I say out loud. Another raid, and I can only hope that we're all 100% prepared a long, hot night. This is the first raid in four days.

I push open the door again and, dodging the little fires and embers, step outside to the road. It's already chaos out here. The sky is already a fiery red and the scent of smoke is everywhere. Men and women are running around hauling wood, full buckets of water, and sharp weapons galore. Suddenly there's an explosion behind me and I am flung backward, landing on my back. A Viking looks down at me, ax raised and beard glowing with a few embers.

" _ROAR!_ " he yells, then he smiles obliviously. "Mornin'!" Then he runs off.

I get back on my feet and run. I pass a few people.

"What are you doing here?" a man says.

"Get inside!" another says.

"What are you doing out?" a grey-bearded man says.

"Get back inside!" a woman says.

By now, I'm used to these requests. I tend to make a mess of things more often than I should. But I'll get inside as soon as I reach the shop.

Another dragon, a Nadder, zips in front of me, spitting flames in a straight line.

"Hiccup!" I hear a deep voice yell and I'm pulled backwards before I can react to the Nadder or the voice. I am held up by my fur-vest by a big Viking (I'm talking very beefy arms and legs) with a huge red beard and a helmet with extra-long horns. He doesn't look my way.

"What is he doing out aga-?" He doesn't wait for a response before he turns my way. "What are you doing out?" he says, then he pushes me away. "Get inside!"

I don't object. Because first of all, I nearly got toasted by a Nadder and he saved my life (again), so I owe him that. Second, and more important, that was Stoick the Vast, chief of the tribe, the Hairy Hooligans. They say that when he was a baby, he popped a dragon's head clean off of its shoulders. Do I believe it? Yes, I do. I wouldn't exactly want to be toasted, or have my head pulled off, for that matter. I mean, no offense to Stoick, but he's a bit touchy and is partly known for his legendary stubbornness.

I run as fast as I can towards the shop, past the huge torches which are just being lit and hoisted up. I see the shop and make a break for it. The smith is already there; Gobber the Belch, a meathead with attitude, interchangeable hands (his left hand was taken by a Monstrous Nightmare some years ago), and a wooden peg-leg (his right leg was also eaten). He has a dirty blonde clumsily braided mustache that hangs below his chin and a helmet with tall horns. I've been his apprentice ever since I was little… Well, littler.

"Oh, nice of you to join the party!" he says, hammering a bent sword. "I thought you'd been carried off." I quickly get out of my vest and throw on a brown smith's apron before responding.

"What? Who, me?" I say, lifting a heavy mace-hand onto a rack. "No, come on. I'm _way_ too muscular for their taste." I turn back to Gobber. "They wouldn't know what to do with all…this," I say, smiling and trying to flex like a bodybuilder.

Gobber seems to go along with my joke. "Well, they need toothpicks, don't they?" he says sarcastically, taking the hammer-hand and switching to a pair of tongs.

Gobber's nice enough as my peers go. I mean, most of them don't really think much of my capabilities. But at least Gobber is less hostile. I've come to think of him as a kind of grandfather-figure, a really blunt and pig-headed grandfather figure. He's known my father since they were kids, so he's watched over me all my life, taking me under his wing as his apprentice and giving me the occasional tip on how to be a better blacksmith.

There's a knock on the door. When it opens, a few Vikings throw it bent and damaged swords and axes. While Gobber continues with the bent sword, I take them to the coals next to the fireplace. Then I push the billow down a few times to get them hot and pliant.

"FIRE!" I hear someone yell. Then I hear a few people run past the open window.

"All right, let's go!" a girl's voice says. I look out and see five teenagers at the water barrel filling up buckets.

The biggest one, Fishlegs Ingerman, heads out first. He has short blonde hair and a helmet that looks rather small on him. His name is fitting if not too imaginative, because while his upper body is big and brawny, standing at least 5'6'', his legs are very scrawny. How they keep him up and running is beyond me. While he is good-hearted, he is a little cowardly and is easily intimidated.

Snotlout Jorgenson is second. While he's about half a foot or so shorter than Fishlegs, he's still strong. He has jet-black hair and ram horns on his helmet. But he's very arrogant, not to mention also rather (How can I put this politely?) dumb and brash.

The third and fourth people are the twins, Ruffnut and Tuffnut Thorston. They both have long blonde hair. Ruffnut (with carelessly braided hair) is as opposite a lady as you can get and Tuffnut (with long hair that never breaks even a wisp) is a guy with serious attitude problems. They fight over their bucket (they fight over everything, and I mean, _everything_ ) spilling some of the water. To be honest, if there is such a thing as 100% dumb, the twins are both 110%. Maybe even 120.

The fifth person runs over to a fire and hurls the water. Then something explodes behind her, making her hair fly. She turns and heads towards the barrel. I can only focus on her. Everything seems to slow down. This girl is…Astrid Hofferson. Long, braided blonde hair, bright blue eyes, sleek build; basically, the teenage embodiment of all things Viking; and most of all, my secret crush. The sight of her brings on a smile. I've just always been fascinated by her. She is joined by the other teens as they head for the barrel.

Oh, their job is so much cooler. They get to see some action.

I want to go out and join them. I absolutely should!

I start for them, but then I'm pulled back. Gobber gives me a look as he sets me back down in front of him.

"Oh, come on," I plead, trying to smile and sound optimistic. "Let me out, please. I need to make my mark."

Gobber smiles sarcastically. "Oh, you've made plenty of marks," he says. Then he taps me with his tongs-hand. "All in the wrong places."

"Please," I counter, trying not to sound like I'm begging. "Two minutes. I'll kill a dragon. My life will get infinitely better." Then I think of Astrid again. "I might even get a date."

"You can't lift a hammer. You can't swing an ax," Gobber says, counting with his fingers. Then he picks up a bola (two iron balls connected by a rope, for those who don't know). "You can't even throw one of these!" he finishes.

Then the bola is taken from his hand by a male Viking who hurls it up at a Gronckle (a dumb-looking dragon that flies around like a wasp, not to be taken lightly), taking it down instantly.

"Okay, fine," I say, backing up. "But this will throw it for me." I pat my new invention, a bola-launcher that I call the Mangler. Suddenly it flips open and a bola, which Gobber barely manages to dodge, goes flying across the shop, going out the window and smacking a man clean in the nose. He falls to the ground cold. Gobber turns around and walks toward me.

"Now, see? Now this right here is what I'm talking about!" he says.

I try to explain the error. "Just a…mild calibration issue; I—"

"No, no. Hiccup," Gobber interrupts. "If you ever want to get out there to fight dragons, you need to stop all…" He hesitates, then points at me. "…this."

"But you just pointed to all of me," I counter, somewhat confused.

"Yes!" he replies. "That's it. Stop bein' all of you."

I narrow my eyes and nod. "Ohh," I say.

"Oh, yes," Gobber says, also nodding.

"You-you, sir, are playing a dangerous game," I say, trying to sound confident and threatening. I gesture to myself. "Keeping this much raw _Viking-ness_ contained? There will be consequences!" I shout.

Gobber is unintimidated. "I'll take my chances," he says. He turns around, grabs a sword, and gives it to me. "Sword. Sharpen. Now."

I heave the sword to the rolling sharpener. Sparks fly on contact. They make me think of the hundreds of thousands of sparks flying outside, amidst all the dragons and Vikings duking it out with each other.

One day I'll get out there. Because killing a dragon is everything around here.

A Nadder head is sure to get me at least noticed.

Gronckles are tough. Taking down one of those would definitely get me a girlfriend.

A Zippleback? Exotic. Two heads, twice the status.

And then there's the Monstrous Nightmare. Only the best Vikings go after those. They have this nasty habit of setting themselves on fire.

Suddenly I hear a piercing sound like a banshee scream outside. Dive-bombing. I quickly drop the sword to the ground and look outside, frantic for a glimpse of this. Only one dragon is known to dive-bomb. It's the ultimate prize, the dragon no one's ever seen. We call it the…

"Night Fury!" someone shouts.

"Get down!" says another.

Then there's a large blast of blue and white as one of the catapults is blown apart.

"Jump!" I hear Stoick's distinct voice cry out. Everyone on the catapult jumps out of the way just as the dragon strikes the burning structure again then vanishes into the dark sky in a blur.

This thing never steals food, never shows itself, and _never_ misses. No one has ever killed a Night Fury. That's why I'm going to be the first.

I stroll to grab some ammo for the Mangler when I see Gobber switching hands again, this time to a double-headed ax-hand.

"Man the fort, Hiccup," he says. "They need me out there." He starts to hobble out the door, but he turns back and points at me. "Stay," he says, hesitating. "Put. There." I shoot him a look. "You know what I mean," he says, then he yells and runs out.

I stand for a second, waiting for him to go, then I whip off my apron, put my vest back on, and grabs some bolas and the Mangler. I wheel it outside narrowly avoiding people who tell me to get back inside. "I know!" I say. "Be right back!"

I find a dark space where the stars are very visible and I set up and load the Mangler. I stand at the ready, fingers on the trigger. I hear a distant roar. "Come on," I whisper, hoping it's a Night Fury. "Gimme something to shoot at," I say twice.

Then, just barely visible, I see the outline of a dragon. As soon as I hear the whistling, I aim. A blue-and-white blast sets an abandoned catapult ablaze and the figure of the dragon is seen for a split-second. I don't hesitate. I pull the trigger. I'm pushed back by the strength of the launch but I quickly prop myself up on one knee. I hear a snap and a screech. I watch, much to my delight, as the figure hurtles down towards Raven Point.

"Oh, I hit it," I say quietly. Then I jump up and cheer gleefully. "Yes, I hit it!" I turn around to see if anybody was watching. "Did anybody see that?" I say.

Then I hear a crash. I turn around and see a Monstrous Nightmare staring at me like I'm medium rare. The source of the crash was it crushing my Mangler.

"Except for you," I say with a small, nervous smile.

Then I scream and run as fast as I can towards the village. I just miss getting toasted by a gel-like fire by inches. When I get to the plaza, I scramble behind a torch. The air becomes blazing hot as the dragon fires again, setting the metal and the wood on fire. I'm protected, but just barely.

I inch to see if the dragon is gone when I see Stoick jumping up out of nowhere and knocking the Nightmare to its side. When it regains its footing, it opens its mouth. All that comes out is a little flame and then nothing else.

Stoick scowls at the dragon. "You're all out," he says, then proceeds to punch and kick the Nightmare until it flies off.

Then the bottom of the torch collapses, revealing me to Stoick, who is looking at me with a scowl. As the torch lands, the bowl flies off and various crashes are heard. I look to Stoick with a worried expression.

Oh. And there's one more thing you need to know.

"Sorry, Dad."


End file.
